I had been avoiding lone wanderings since I moved into the area. The Coronavirus pandemic, combined with the fact that my office was based near where Sarah Everard had been attacked, had diminished my confidence in exploring alone. But to experience wildlife, one cannot remain indoors, so my journey took me to a suburban park with crisp packets crackling underfoot and Wood Pigeons sauntering suspiciously through uncut winter grass. I came across a muttering woman in her early

I so looked forward to the moment my pink and purple welly boots reached the top of the hill. This was back when the top of my head reached the top of my Nanna’s tiny Welsh slate fireplace. It was the only place in the whole world where we; my brother and I, were allowed to swear. We didn’t just curse though, with grinning faces, we screamed until our throats were sore from vibration. Our big profanities, sourced from tiny lungs seemed to ricochet off the valleys around us.